Caritas
by Miss Becky
Summary: What does Caritas mean? Takes place early in S4, based on spoilers about the gang's trip to Las Vegas to visit Lorne and his new nightclub.


Caritas   
By Miss Becky  
  
Disclaimer: Much to my dismay, Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own these shattered characters. I'm just playing with the pieces we have left.  
  
Takes place early in S4, based on spoilers about the gang's trip to Las Vegas to visit Lorne and his new nightclub. Both Cordelia and Angel are back, choose your own method how, I don't care (those are spoilers I'm staying away from). Since I don't know what to do with him, Connor is not in this story. Think of him back in LA, either a) watching after the hotel, or b) skulking around still wanting to kill Angel. Whichever one works best for you.  
  
Rating: PG, to be safe.  
  
Pairing: F/G  
  
Spoilers: Vague ones for season four, S2 Redefinition and its resulting arc, nearly all the latter half of S3.  
  
Feedback is always welcomed. Feel free to review or write me at beckyg19@yahoo.com  
  
  
****  
  
"Caritas. Oh, he kept the name!" Fred said happily as they approached the front doors.   
  
The invitation had come the other day, and the AI crew had eagerly accepted. The Hyperion lay behind them now, and there was only the glittering kitsch of the Strip, the main drag in Las Vegas. Gunn was glad to be here, glad to be out of LA, glad to be someplace different with Fred at his side. Undoubtedly there were vampires in Vegas, but at least here he wouldn't be required to fight them. He nodded. "It's a good name."  
  
Cordelia emphatically agreed. "Oh, and people? Can we try not to destroy this one? I don't think that's why Lorne invited us here."  
  
"Those things weren't our fault," Angel protested half-heartedly.  
  
"Tell it to the man himself," Gunn said, but without any rancor. He carried more than his share of blame for destroying the original Caritas, and coming here tonight only served to remind him of that.  
  
They stopped just outside the doors. Even from the sidewalk, the new club was markedly different from the old. Where the old Caritas had been below street level, the new one stood proudly on a patch of land at one end of the Strip. To the left was the Bellagio hotel and casino, made famous through movies such as Ocean's Eleven, and its fantastic water fountain displays. Earlier tonight Gunn had stood on the sidewalk and watched the interplay of light and water, entranced by its strange beauty.   
  
They stepped into the club, and it was like walking back in time. This Caritas was swankier than the first, and the decor was different, but it was still dim, and the bar was still backlit in colorful neon. The stage was out of sight on the left. Someone was singing an old Who tune, one of those songs Gunn knew he should know the name of, but couldn't recall. The air was heavy with smoke and song, and he inhaled deeply. Although wild horses couldn't have dragged it from him, until this moment, he hadn't realized how fond he had been of Caritas.  
  
He looked around, seeking Lorne. He didn't particularly like demons, even the good variety, but Lorne was all right. More than all right. The Host had saved their lives several times, and it was only his knowledge that had allowed them to save Cordelia from Pylea. And in Pylea, of course, they had found Fred.   
  
Fred. His beautiful, sweet, intelligent Fred. He had never known anyone like her, never had anyone slip under his defenses the way she did. He could let himself be free with her, and drop the strong facade he put on for the rest of the world. On paper he worked for Angel, but the real boss was Fred, and she knew it -- that she never abused the power his love gave her only made Gunn love her even more.  
  
And, he realized, he owed Lorne for that. This incredible woman on his arm wouldn't be there if it wasn't for the green, horned demon. And suddenly Gunn wanted to thank Lorne. For all the times nobody else had, and for everything he had ever done for them.  
  
Excited now, he surged forward, bearing Fred with him. She hung back a little, the most reluctant of them all to come to Caritas. Nothing good had ever happened when she had been in the place, so her hesitance was understandable. But Gunn wanted her to see how it could be, how happy they could be in a sanctuary like this.   
  
"Slow down, Charles," she protested, nearly tripping over her heeled sandals.  
  
"Sorry, baby," he said absently. His eyes had adjusted to the low light by now, and he scanned the crowd, searching for the Host.   
  
" 'Behind Blue Eyes'," Fred murmured. "I like this song."  
  
Gunn stopped looking around and let himself listen to a few bars of the song. "It ain't too bad," he allowed. He didn't really like what he called Dead White Rock, but the singer was actually pretty good, so he could live with it. Maybe later, after a few drinks, he would have the courage to get up onstage and serenade Fred. Something by Ella, perhaps.  
  
"It was one of Giles's favorites," Cordelia said, from right behind them.   
  
Her voice was so close Gunn nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn't realized she had followed them. He glanced behind him, and saw Angel was hovering near the entrance. The vampire wore his "I'm excruciatingly uncomfortable here" expression, for no reason Gunn could fathom.   
  
"Maybe it's your ex-Watcher doing the singin'," he teased. "Got out of Sunnyhell and came for a weekend, stayed for a lifetime."  
  
Cordy's eyes rolled. "Hello? He was Buffy's watcher, not mine."  
  
Gunn didn't waste breath saying he had only been joking.  
  
They rounded the corner, and Fred stopped dead in her tracks. Gunn let his feet still, and grinned when he saw Lorne hovering near the bar. The Host wore a brilliant plum-colored suit with a jade green hanky peeking from his pocket. His eyes were fixed on the man on stage. He was frowning.  
  
Fred's hand tightened painfully on his arm. "Charles."  
  
"Yeah?" Gunn turned and followed the direction of Fred's stare.  
  
"Oh, I should have known," Cordelia moaned from behind them. "We're going to destroy this place too, aren't we?"  
  
Gunn, staring at the stage, could only nod his head. "Could be we might."  
  
He could not stop staring. Up there, baring his soul while singing about a loneliness no one else could know, was their very own ex-Watcher. Wesley Wyndham-Price.  
  
"What's he doing here?" Cordy hissed.  
  
Fred gasped. "Get Angel out of here. Now! Before he-" She turned and let out a little yelp of fright. "Angel!"  
  
The vampire had finally decided to join them. Gunn whirled around, his body already tensing with dread and anticipation for the inevitable fight.   
  
"Angel, try to remember this is a sanctuary. This is Lorne's place," Cordelia begged. Her hand gripped his arm, as though there was a chance in hell she could stop him, if he chose to shove her aside.  
  
Angel said nothing. He looked at Wesley for a long moment, then turned away. The mask of disinterest on his face was a patent lie, but Gunn relaxed slightly when he saw that there was no imminent danger.  
  
For the time being.  
  
Lorne, however, had seen them, and now the Host came hurrying over. His smile looked only partly terrified. "Angelcakes! Fred darling! Look at you, you all came!" He did not ask about Connor.  
  
Gunn nodded. His earlier thoughts of welcome had fled. "Hey, Lorne."  
  
The Host glanced over his shoulder, wincing slightly. When he turned back, he had regained his game smile. "Who woulda thought it, huh? Did you know he had that set of pipes on him when you hired him?"  
  
Angel's blank expression did not change one whit.   
  
"You had this place de-violence-ized, right?" Cordelia asked nervously. She tugged on Angel's arm. "I mean, maybe we should come back tomorrow."  
  
"This wasn't fair, Lorne," Fred said. Her voice was small, but firm. Gunn looked at her in surprise, abruptly realizing that she was angry. "You had no right to set us up like this."  
  
"Whoa, sugarplum. This wasn't my idea." Lorne glanced behind him again, to where Wesley was nearly finished with the song. "Believe me, if I thought I could arrange this lovely accidental meeting and then sit back and let the happy music start, I would have done it a long time ago."  
  
He gestured to them. "Come on in. Sit down. I hate having serious conversations in doorways. It gives me the willies."   
  
Gunn did not move. He waited on Fred. He would do whatever she wanted. If she wanted to leave, then he would walk on out of here and not look back.   
  
Fred, his brave girl, squared her shoulders and marched after Lorne. With a faint shrug, Gunn followed her.  
  
Lorne found an unoccupied table, swept the "Reserved" card off the top and deftly pocketed it. "Drinks? I haven't been able to find anyone to replace Raoul yet, but Jasper makes one helluva Sex on the Beach."  
  
Gunn sat down. Onstage, the song ended. The patrons of Caritas broke into scattered, thoughtless applause, then went back to their drinks and discussions. Wesley, however, did not move to leave the stage. He had seen Angel and the others, and he was staring fixedly at them now. Under the bright stagelights it was hard to tell if the sheen in his eyes was fear or not.  
  
Gunn stared back. There had been a time, and it hadn't been too long ago, when he would have followed Wesley to the end of the world. He had admired the hell out of the scrawny Englishman, and the person who could command Gunn's respect also had his loyalty. But betrayal changed everything. Now his loyalty was to Fred and Angel, in that order. In the darkest hour of the night, when he could admit that Wesley had only done the best he could, Gunn could still feel guilty at his inability to forgive his former friend. But by the time dawn rolled around, he would remember once again why none of them had tried to mend the shattered friendships they had shared, and regain a measure of peace.   
  
Looking at Wesley, it was hard for Gunn to know where he got the arrogance to think everything was all right. Pangs of conscience pricked him. He and Wesley had bonded over one long winter and spring, going out to face demons and monsters together, with no one else's help. Wesley had taken a bullet for him, and he had been proud to call the ex-Watcher his friend. Yet for many months now he had allowed himself to forget, to pretend that Wesley meant nothing to him anymore.  
  
Thoughts of those months scoured his throat, and he swallowed hard. "What's he doing here?" he asked Lorne, without taking his eyes off the forlorn figure still standing on the stage.   
  
"The same reason everybody comes here," Lorne said. "To find direction." He took a deep breath. "And to ask my forgiveness."  
  
"Well, I should say!" Cordelia exclaimed. "He nearly killed you."  
  
Lorne spoke to them all, but his gaze was on Angel. The vampire sat motionless in his chair, his eyes as empty as they had been the night baby Connor had been excised from their lives. But when Gunn hazarded a glance at him, he could see none of the old rage in Angel's eyes, and that was good. Maybe there was a chance, after all.  
  
"Listen to me, Angel." The Host's voice was unusually serious, clashing with his appearance. "I asked you once if you knew what Caritas meant. Remember?"  
  
"I remember," Angel said distantly. He might have been discussing the weather.  
  
"Do you? 'Cos I'm not sure you're getting it," Lorne said. "Wesley did a bad thing. A terrible thing. But it's in the past. You got Connor back. You keep this up and it will always be there, right in front of you. It won't ever be anything but terrible."  
  
"He took Angel's son," Cordelia said simply, as if this answer explained everything.  
  
Which it did, in a way. But sitting there in the reborn phoenix of Caritas, Gunn realized he no longer accepted this answer. He hadn't for some time. The long summer had made it impossible for him to lie to himself. Yes, he was angry at Wesley for taking Connor. For not trusting them enough to share his desperate secret with them. For being so damn noble and stupid.   
  
But mostly he was angry at himself.  
  
Sahjhan had written the false prophecy, and Wesley had believed it, because his feelings for Angel would not let him believe anything else. But he, Charles Gunn, had made it all possible.   
  
He had been too wrapped up in his new relationship with Fred, and he had been oblivious to the world around him. Love had blinded him, but he had willingly closed his eyes. There was nobody to blame but himself. For an entire spring Wesley had been falling apart in front of him, and he hadn't even noticed.  
  
So when you came right down to it, didn't that make him to blame for it all, too? Yet nobody spoke his name in hushed whispers, and only when Angel wasn't around. Nobody had decided to forget everything they had ever known about him and judge him based on a single -- albeit horrible -- mistake. Every Friday he got a paycheck from Angel Investigations, and every morning he woke up knowing he would go into work and see his friends and help them fight the good fight.  
  
And what did Wesley have?  
  
He looked at the stage again, but Wesley had gone. Gunn turned his head, seeking through the darkened room to find the ex-Watcher, but came up empty.   
  
"Angel." Lorne was still talking. "He came here to apologize for attacking me, and to explain himself. I think it's the first time he's told anyone his side of the story." The Host's eyes darkened with sorrow. "And believe me, it's a doozy of a story."  
  
"So you forgive him. I guess that means you're a better demon than me," Angel said dryly. "Big deal."  
  
Gunn looked at them, his friends. If he was the one to screw up next, would they turn on him? Angel had fired them and come crawling back, and sure it had been rocky at first, but everything had been forgiven, and now look at them all.  
  
Fred was staring at her lap, the corners of her mouth trembling. She hated confrontations, and Gunn found himself wanting to reassure her, tell her everything was all right. But he had no right to tell her such things, when he didn't know them for himself.   
  
Cordelia, who had gone away, but then come back to them, was watching Angel. She was different now, in strange ways that Gunn was still learning about. Her loyalty to Angel was unswerving, almost scarily so. Love wasn't supposed to be so creepy.  
  
While Lorne continued to speak to Angel's deaf ears, Gunn stood up and left the table.   
  
He moved with unconscious grace, twisting and moving easily through the crowd, avoiding the cup of beer that looked like it was just waiting to spill on the nearest victim, hopping aside from the lumbering Thirrol demon that had two left hooves. At a burst of feedback from the microphone on stage, he winced, then a demon with fins for hands began warbling, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."  
  
Wesley was sitting alone at a table in the corner, his back to the wall. Gunn supposed hell would freeze over before the Englishman would ever again allow anyone to come up behind him and take him by surprise. He was nursing a drink gone sweaty with condensation, and his eyes met Gunn's with neither welcome nor reproach. He looked the same as he had that fatal spring, sleepless and unshaven. Haunted.  
  
Gunn gestured to the leather jacket laying draped over a chair. "I see the rogue demon hunter gig is working out for you again."  
  
Wesley cleared his throat. "Yes, well. There's enough evil in the world to go around."  
  
When Angel had fired them, Wesley had said they didn't need the vampire in order to fight the good fight. The rest of the gang would not turn their backs on the world, and ignore the plight of all the innocent people who needed their help. With a touch of old sadness, Gunn remembered that it was a night out at Caritas that had convinced them all of the truth of this declaration, and made them believe they could indeed continue the fight. He was glad to see Wesley still believed that.  
  
"I hope you don't got the wrong impression," he said, wondering where these banal words had come from. And stupidly, his mouth kept going, long past the point when his brain was screaming at him to shut up. "This wasn't Lorne's idea. He invited us here, but this wasn't part of the plan, having us all meet up like this."  
  
"I know," Wesley said, playing along. "I got here yesterday."  
  
Gunn took a deep breath. Well, all right. Maybe he'd had a reason for starting the conversation this way. He just hadn't known it until now. "Did he invite you? Or'd you just show up?" The answer seemed strangely important.  
  
If Wesley knew how much was riding on his reply, he did not show it. "I needed his help," he said. "Some information about a Ka'reg demon. I got his phone number from Information, and called him. He invited me here." He looked away. "Three weeks ago."  
  
Gunn nodded. He could feel the stares of his friends burning into his back. Angel, dark and intense. Cordelia, curious and watchful. Lorne, cautious and hopeful. Fred, proud and beautiful.  
  
He sat down in the empty chair across from Wesley. Behind him, although he couldn't possibly hear, he thought he heard Fred say she loved him.  
  
He clasped his hands on the table and leaned in. In the course of one spring, they had all learned that the fairy tales lied. There wasn't always a villain, and sometimes the bad guy wasn't the bad guy, after all. Sometimes they all played the bad guy.   
  
"So, Lorne says you've got quite a story to tell, English."  
  
Something dark and hungry flickered in Wesley's eyes. For a moment his anguish was nearly palpable. Then he mastered himself, and let go of the glass he had been clutching. "Yes," he said. "I do."  
  
"So do I," Gunn said. "You wanna go first, or should I?"  
  
Caritas meant mercy, and once you knew that, it was not the kind of thing you forgot. Sometimes, though, you just needed a little help remembering why you had ever known it in the first place.  
  
*****  
  
END  
  
Author's Note: Like many fans, I am thoroughly unhappy with the direction this show is moving in. Watching the recent repeat of "Forgiving" was like a knife to the heart, to watch the demise of the characters I had loved so much. I have little faith that the writers will restore our AI gang in a believable or timely manner, but that's what fanfiction is for, right? I wrote this story for a friend who needed something to keep her sane and hopeful. It works for me, and I hope it works for some of you, too.  
  
Becky  
  
  
"Nobody knows what it's like  
To be the bad man.  
To be the sad man.  
Behind blue eyes."  
-- The Who, "Behind Blue Eyes." 


End file.
